


True Friendship

by Rehlia



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dark, Drabble, Friendship, Gen, Implied Genocide, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:44:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8475898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehlia/pseuds/Rehlia
Summary: Sans has a hard time coming to terms with his memories of the resets, and asks Frisk for help.





	

Frisk is sitting on the couch watching cartoons when Sans stumbles in. Momma’s still asleep, it’s early. Why is Sans up so early? He normally sleeps very late. He’s walking funny, like he’ll fall over any second. Is he sick?

“Sans? Are you okay?” 

“heya. kid. kiddo.”

He sounds slurred and tired. One wobbling foot in front of the other, and he reaches the couch. There’s a strong smell of something bitter on him. Frisk doesn’t know what that is. Sans could sometimes smell weird, of ketchup and old clothes and sweat, but he never smelled like this. He falls face first into the seat of the couch and grumbles. It looks funny. Frisk laughs. Sans crawls up and twists until he sits the right way round on the couch, next to Frisk. His body is swaying left and right, back and forth. 

“wh’t ‘re you… watch’n.”

“Cartoons,” they say with a shrug. Momma had said Frisk should only watch the kid’s channel when she wasn’t around, and they’re listening to her. They love her a lot and they’re really happy to have her as family now. The channel shows Tom and Jerry, and Jerry’s hitting Tom’s foot with a hammer until the cat screams. It’s not very funny, but it’s better than being bored because they’re awake early. 

Sans stares at the screen, the lights in his eyes flickering in and out. Frisk watches him now instead of the TV, not sure if something’s wrong or not. 

“so. when’re ya gonna… gonna... do it.”

Frisk doesn’t get it. 

“Do what?”

“tha’,” Sans slurs, pointing an unsteady hand at the TV. Jerry has tripped Tom, and the cat has fallen into the knife drawer. He almost got stabbed. 

Frisk is confused and frowns. Is Sans asking them to hurt somebody? They wouldn’t do that!

“I’m not!” They say emphatically. 

“no?”

“No!”

Sans laughs. It’s quiet and doesn’t sound as if he’s having a lot of fun, but he laughs and keeps laughing and doesn’t stop. Frisk wants him to stop, it sounds bad, and it makes them uneasy. 

“Sans?”

Tears are gathering at the corners of Sans’ eyes and he’s still laughing, although he sounds more like he’s crying now. 

“fuck.”

Frisk shifts on their seat on the couch. They know that’s not a word you’re supposed to say and Sans normally doesn’t say words like that when he thinks they can hear him. He only swears when he thinks they’re not around. Something really bad must have happened. They lift their hand and place it gently onto his skull, petting the smooth surface. They don’t know what to say, but that’s okay. Sometimes, you don’t need to say anything. Sometimes, you just give a friend your hand or hug them, like they had done with Asriel. 

“i can’t do this fuckin’ shit ‘nymore.”

Sans sobs, and suddenly he’s falling over, sideways into their lap. His skull is heavy on their legs. They’re surprised at first, but then they keep petting his skull. He must really need it! Being close like this, the bitter smell is stronger than before and suddenly Frisk thinks they maybe smelled something similar before after all. Brown bottles that teens and adults cling to in dirty back alleys. They had always been hurried past those. When they had asked, they had been told it was something only bad people do, drinking that. But Sans isn’t bad? Why is he smelling like this? Is that what made him sick? Is that why he’s swaying and why he can’t talk right?

He’s clinging to them now, the hard, cold bones of his hands digging into their waist. 

“Sans, ow,” they say quietly, no longer petting him, trying to pry his fingers away. He doesn’t let go. His tears make the pants of their pjs wet.

“you’re.” He shudders with another sob. “you‘re really... good at this shit.”

“Sans, ow!” They repeat, tugging harder at his fingers.

“really... good pretending t’ be all nice. or what… whatever.”

“Sans!” They yank at his fingers, and finally his bones go slack and he lets go. Their waist hurts where he clung to them. Frisk doesn’t like this. Is Sans saying they’re mean? They’re not! “What do you mean, pretending? I’m your friend!”

He’s laughing again, they can feel his teeth shaking against their thigh where his head’s lying on their lap. They wanted to comfort him, but they don’t like this. Frisk wishes he would get up and go, and then feels bad for wanting that. 

Sans sits up. 

His right eye socket is empty, devoid of light. The left one has one big round light that flickers in harsh cyan and cold yellow. It scares Frisk, even though they don’t know why. They’ve never seen this before. They would remember something like this, they’re sure.

“friends.” 

“Yeah,” Frisk says. They are. Aren’t they? Is he saying they’re not? That would be sad. Sans is nice. He’s really funny, and he watched out for them back in the underground and made them feel safe. They had been very scared then, and they sometimes felt as if they would never get out there, but then everything always worked out when they followed those little nudges. A small pull here, a little push there, and they had always assumed that was Sans somehow. Because he said he’d keep an eye socket out for them. He was the magic knowledge that helped them, wasn’t he? The one that helped them when they fought and something came close to hitting them and they could have died - but they didn’t die. 

Of course they didn’t. That would be impossible, or they wouldn’t be here. Sometimes, though… sometimes they’re not sure. Sometimes they feel as if they’re forgetting something. Something important. About themselves and their friends. Something painful. 

But no, impossible. Impossible.

They never died. Sans said so on his date with them.

Nobody died. Sans said so in the golden hallway.

And they trust Sans. 

Right?

But Sans had also told them something else, at MTT resort. 

“heh. we’ll see, pal.” 

His speech is clearer. 

“Sans?”

Frisk feels goosebumps on their arms. 

“prove it.” 

His eye is flickering faster. 

“Prove what?” 

Frisk is more scared than they have ever been in the six years they’ve been alive.

“prove you’re my friend.”

Cyan, yellow, cyan, yellow. Flickering faster.

“How?”

Sans raises his hand and Frisk can’t breathe.

“if we’re really friends… you won’t come back.”


End file.
